To Kill a Mockingbird

Robert Mulligan's solid adaptation of Harper Lee's novel holds up better than most of its contemporaries. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) isn't exactly subtle, but it's a fine drama with Gregory Peck's best performance.

In 1930's Alabama, precocious tomboy Scout (Mary Badham), her brother Jem (Phillip Alford) and friend Dill (John Megna) live a care-free existence with their lawyer father Atticus (Gregory Peck): their biggest concern is whether town hermit "Boo" Radley (Robert Duvall) is as dangerous as reputation has it. The town explodes into an uproar when black man Tom Robinson (Brock Peters) is accused of raping a white girl (Oliver Wilcox) by the girl's father. Atticus agrees to defend Tom, which leads to a backlash, and Scout and Jem find their lives turned upside down by the case.

Lee's beautiful book shows a loss of childhood innocence in a climate of segregation. Scout and their friends don't really understand the verities of Jim Crow, even after Atticus explains to them why it's wrong to call someone a "nigger." Mulligan provides a somewhat outsized drama, with an idealized Atticus and demonic rednecks, spooky neighbors and creepy shadows, that perfectly reflects Scout's half-formed worldview. Perhaps inevitably, however, Atticus ends up dominating the narrative, and the film becomes more overtly about race than Lee's novel.

Released in 1962, just before "the Sixties" really kicked into gear, To Kill a Mockingbird is very much in tune with Inherit the Wind and 12 Angry Men in its eloquent pleading for social justice and belief that people are basically good. It's anything but subtle, which is fair enough; more troubling is that the blacks that are such marginal characters. Tom Robinson is idealized beyond belief, only speaking in his own defense at the trial; his wife (Kim Hamilton) is given neither dialogue nor a screen credit. Like too many "message films," Mockingbird is not about an oppressed people achieving justice so much as it is about a brave white man standing up for them.

That said, on a dramatic level To Kill a Mockingbird is solid, and far more entertaining than Stanley Kramer's rigged card games. Mulligan's direction is superb, with a wonderful sense of nostalgia and mood, and he handles his actors perfectly. He perfectly captures a child's-eye view of the world without resorting to obnoxious overstatement and cartoonishness. The ending is too dramatically convenient, but at least Lee and Mulligan don't try and solve the world's problems through Boo's actions. Racism is a more complex issue than here presented, but the film doesn't pretend Atticus and Boo have completely resolved it.

Gregory Peck is perfectly cast. His stiff and mannered acting style is perfectly suited for Atticus Finch, and he delivers his big moments - especially his eloquent courtroom plea - with the right histrionic power and force. I still prefer Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia for 1962's Oscar, but Peck is certainly worthy of his plaudits. However idealized, Atticus is a character, not a position paper, and Peck makes a compelling and endearing one.

Child actors Mary Badham, John Megna and Phillip Alford are all superb. Brock Peters (Major Dundee) gives a solid performance with his underdeveloped character and Paul Fix (Red River) has a nice supporting role, but supporting rednecks James Anderson (The Chase) and Collin Wilcox are overbaked caricatures. Robert Duvall doesn't make much of an impression in his early-career bit.

To Kill a Mockingbird is a good big screen adaptation of a great book. It's not as good a film as the book is a novel, but it's still an emotional, enjoyable work of art.